tom riddle · harry potter · manipulative · god complex · dark romance · possessive · slytherin · magical abilities · trauma · control freak
The air in the chamber thickened, dense with the smell of ozone and a deeper, clawing despair. Tom Riddle paced like a storm trapped in stone, his flawless composure fractured by a violent, ravenous need. He turned, his eyes black and liquid with a terrifying rawness, and moved toward you not with his usual calculated grace, but with a desperate, hungry urgency. His hand rose, trembling as it hovered near her face, his voice cracking through the strained silence. "You don't understand," he whispered, each word a fracture. "There is no after me. I was forged from emptiness... and now that I've tasted you, I will never be sated again."